


Not Completely Ruined

by Redbone135



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbone135/pseuds/Redbone135
Summary: Modern, non magic AU. Killian and his roommate Neal both have special plans for Valentine's Day. However, Killian's date, and Neal's ten-year relationship, both end rather abruptly when they realize they were spending Valentine's Day with the wrong person. One secret leads to another, until both friends are in way over their heads.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Milah
Comments: 11
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

The pizza place that Neal and Killian frequented for what might generously be called brunch was running a special on heart-shaped pizzas for Valentine's Day. 

“That’s so cheesy,” Killian had laughed as they stepped up to the counter, pondering their order.

“Hey - I’m that one that makes the puns around here,” Neal had laughed, loosing his enthusiasm as his eyes drifted up to the menu board. “I have no clue what I want.”

“I think they’ve got salads,” Killian mused, joining his roommate in looking up at the board of options. They always got the same thing, always pretended they wouldn’t.

“Are you kidding? I’m getting a slice,” Neal corrected, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet and the crumpled dollar bills shoved haphazardly inside. Killian had been begging him to open a line of credit, get a driver’s license, even a library card… something so that Neal had anything else to put in that faded wallet, but Neal hadn’t relented yet and probably wouldn’t any time in the near future.

“I thought Tamara still had you counting calories?” Killian asked with a raised eyebrow, holding up his finger with a small nod to the girl at the counter, indicating to double Neal’s order. “Thought pizza was giving you a bit of a gut, mate?”

He reached out with his bad hand, smacking his roommate in the stomach and then recoiling as Neal retaliated with a punch to the shoulder. It hurt like hell, Neal had a tendency to not pull even his affectionate punches, but Killian had a stiff upper lip and enough pride not to let it show.

“Nah, it’s the beer that’s giving me a gut, and anyway, what Tamara doesn’t know won’t kill her,” Neal mumbled. “Speaking of which, what do you have on tap?”

Killian chuckled, listening to the girl at the counter rattle off a long list of beers - Neal listening carefully to each one before selecting the perfect companion for his pizza and then turning to follow Killian to a booth in the back corner under the TV.

It was their favorite place, perfectly located between The Rabbit Hole where Neal tended bar most evenings and the bus stop Killian took to his nine-to-five right outside of Tribeca. They had agreed long ago that this little hole-in-the-wall must have been some sort of front for a money laundering business - open twenty-four seven and almost always empty. When they woke up hungover and hungry at noon on a Sunday they could always split a pepperoni with extra cheese, rolled in from a late night in the Eastside around four in the morning there was always room at the corner booth for them and a shared pie, and on those rare nights in - when they were eating pizza during normal, human hours - they could always pick up a box and bring it back up the stairs for a night of video games and trash talk. Both joked they had come to New York to escape their families - but they had stayed for the pizza. 

“So, any plans tonight?” Neal asked around a mouthful of crust, talking louder to be heard over the TV.

“Of course,” Killian laughed, annoyed at the implication that he might, for once in his life, have been unable to get a date on Valentine's day. “You remember the hot blonde from the diner outside my job?”

“The one with the daisy tattoo on her wrist?” Neal asked - he wasn’t really supposed to be noticing other women, not when Tamara was around, but he did remember that tattoo and didn’t see any harm in admitting that. And if he’d noticed the blonde attached to it, well, he didn’t need to admit that part.

“Yeah, Emma Swan - taking her out for dinner and drinks on the water. I assume I'll have the apartment to myself later tonight?”

Neal grunted a response, his mouth too full of pizza to answer. 

“So, anything planned tonight?”

“Just the usual.”

Killian rolled his eyes, keeping his comments to himself as he reached across the table and took a sip of Neal’s beer. 

“What?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything, mate,” Killian said, averting his eyes but refusing to hide his smirk.

“You were thinking it awfully loud,” Neal grumbled, daring him to speak up. To speak up like everyone else in Neal’s life had at this point. It was Valentine’s Day. It had been almost ten years. Everyone was waiting. No one - least of all Neal - knew why he hadn’t yet.

But he wasn’t going to - not tonight and not anytime in the foreseeable future. He loved Tamara - as much as he was ever really able to be sure he was in love - but he didn’t really believe in the idea, nay - the institution - of marriage. He’d seen both his parents cycle through so many of them that it had made his head spin growing up. True, Pops did seem happy with family number three these days - and Ma was always happy with every last one of her shiny, new husbands, but Neal didn’t like the idea of ruining a good thing by making them both feel a little trapped.

“I’m not trying to pry,” Killian chuckled, wiping pizza grease from the corners of his mouth with a napkin folded neatly in his good hand. “You know I wouldn’t be proposing either in your shoes… then again, I wouldn’t have stuck with the lass for a decade of me time either…”

“Your accent is showing,” Neal grumbled, picking up his trash and carrying it over to the bins by the door. With a heavy sigh, Killian followed. 

“No, I like our tradition. I’ll pick up Chinese food, we’ll split a bottle of wine, and watch some chick flick she’s picked out.”

“And then have boring vanilla sex until the two of you fall asleep at a reasonable hour,” Killian groaned. “I hate it. I hate everything about your life. It’s boring. You’re boring! Please, just let me plan one of your dates, just once!”

“Hey,” Neal laughed as the door to the pizza place closed behind them and they both paused on the corner ready to head their separate ways for the rest of the day. “Tamara likes my boring ass, okay? Likes it enough to stick with it for ten years. When was the last time you held onto a girl for more than a month?”

Killian winced at the idea; he couldn’t help it. “Neal, if I EVER hold onto a girl for more than a month: send help… please. She’d have to have me tied up in her basement somewhere or something. Seriously - I’m in my twenties and I’ve got plenty of wild oats to sow. And if you aren’t planning to marry Tamara, then you should be doing the same.”

“Fuck off,” Neal laughed, their affectionate way of saying goodbye. A lot of sentiment rolled into two little words, eight years of friendship, of ups and downs and all over the places. Of knowing when Neal couldn’t call his dad - when Killian’s brother had died - when shit hit the fan for two terribly lost boys pretending to be adults in the big city - they always had someone they could rely on. “I’m planning on having a good time tonight.”

“Just do me a favor and keep your boring plans at her place,” Killian called after him. “Wouldn’t want you two to get jealous of the good time I’m planning on having!”

*

However, the best laid plans often do go awry as they say. And Killian's plans... well they were a little arwy.

Killian was, in one massive understatement, fairly unimpressed. 

He liked his life to be easily sorted into neat little boxes, easy to define, explain, and ultimately control. He wasn’t manipulative - at least not according to him - but he didn’t like it when things got out of control, not since the messy childhood he preferred not to talk about. Not since the wildly unpredictable father and the brother who had ultimately sent his life into a swirling vortex of chaos that it had taken himself - and Neal - forever to pull him back out of. 

Yes, Killian liked things to make sense. He liked them to fit into his worldview neatly and easily. He liked to be in charge of them. 

Emma Swan did not. She did not make sense. She did not fit into his world view. And from the moment she stepped out of that taxi in six-inch heels and a tight red dress, vetoing his idea of dinner on the boat because of terrible seasickness, he knew he wasn’t in control.

Killian had imagined her all wrong and he felt annoyed - and though he’d never admit it, a little embarrassed - at all the misconceptions he’d made. 

She was supposed to be impressed with his stories of foster care and the time he lost his hand to a literal crocodile. She wasn’t - instead she had shared her own stories of foster care and a couple scars from equally outrageous stories.

She was supposed to laugh daintily at his jokes, smile when he called her ‘love’, and practically purr when he ran his fingers over her wrist. She didn’t. Most of his jokes were met with a flat stare, made all the more intense by the thick ring of eyeliner around ice blue eyes. She reminded him the first time he’d used a pet name that her name was Emma and she expected him to call her by it and had visibly recoiled when he’d traced the lines of her tattoo. 

She was, in his opinion, not worth a second date. 

But they were here, and the night was already wasted. 

And it felt like a shame to waste an empty apartment. So he had invited her back for a glass of wine at his place and been, quite honestly, surprised when she had agreed. Apparently she felt like it was a shame to waste… whatever it was she wasn’t telling him… too. Normally that would bother him, but having already resigned himself to not figuring her out, he was willing to let it go. 

But when he turned his key in the lock, he was surprised to find the apartment wasn’t empty. The lights were on, a couple boxes of Chinese food spread out across the coffee table, Tamara sitting with her back facing him, blocking his view of Neal on the couch. The TV was off, no music playing, and Killian had almost half a mind to wish Emma good-bye here at the doorstep and leave before his roommate even noticed he was home. 

Then again… he had specifically requested the apartment...

“Tamara, your hair looks lovely like that,” he said, gesturing for Emma to step inside, ready to make hurried introductions as he rushed her to his room. “Emma this is-”

But the woman turned, chocolate curls cascading around her shoulders with the quick movement - grey-green eyes piercing him to the spot. 

And revealing Neal, who was doing his best to wipe quickly at his eyes with the collar of his shirt. That wasn’t Tamara, they weren’t celebrating Valentines Day, and something was very wrong.

“Emma, this is my roommate Neal,” Killian finished quietly. “Neal… this is… is everything alright?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman across from him - her entrance into his life utterly unpredictable, uncontrollable, unwelcome, to say the least. Her coloring reminded him a little of Neal’s step-sister - long, dark brown hair, sun-darkened skin, strong jaw and intelligent eyes - her expression equally devoid of interest and patience. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Neal mumbled, biting his lip and trying to act casual. “Sorry to… ruin your plans. It’s nice to meet you Emma.”

The blonde at his side stayed silent, looking uncomfortably between Killian, Neal, and the mystery woman.

“Well,” the woman announced, standing and brushing her palms against the tight denim jeans she wore tucked into knee-high boots. “This must be Killian… you’re probably much more equipped to handle this than I am. So I suppose I’ll be leaving then.”

Killian caught the faintest bit of an annoyed sigh as Neal - who was still trying to shield his face and the redness around his eyes from the new company - rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you out,” Killian offered quickly as he watched the woman grab her coat and shrug into it with one fluid motion, heading down the stairs with little intention of waiting on him.

“What happened?” he yelled after her as soon as the apartment door had slammed shut, sprinting a little to catch up with her uninterrupted gait as she made her way down the stairs. “What’s - Who - Why?”

“Darling, you’re stammering,” she chuckled, turning to face him with a lack of patience. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Her voice rolled over him, thick like honey and smoke. Her gaze had switched from one of appraisal to one of amusement. He knew it well because it was the look he often wore when he invited a date back to his place. Calm, collected, utterly in control. 

And he did not like being on the receiving end of it. Not for one minute.

“Is he alright?” Killian finally asked, the only question that really mattered here.

“He will be,” the woman sighed, turning and continuing down the stairs, Killian following behind her like a duckling to water. “He thinks he’s heartbroken, but give him a day or two and I’m sure he’ll realize what he really is: relieved.”

“Tamara left him?” Killian asked as they turned the corner, heading down the last flight of stairs. 

“Less she left him and more she… found someone else. Perhaps she got tired of waiting for a ring. Perhaps she never really loved him to begin with. Good riddance I say, I never really liked the girl.”

At that Killian had to laugh. “Right? She was just so… boring! And she made Neal boring!”

The woman laughed, a heavy, dark sound that seemed to clash with the click of her boots on the concrete landing as she paused by the grate covering the front door. “I’m so glad someone else saw it too! Did you know his name is really Baelfire? Baelfire Neal Gold - that’s what it says on his birth certificate. But he met Tamara and she liked his middle name better: said it was more normal. More presentable. And he has been, unfortunately, Neal ever since.”

“No way,” Killian laughed, aware he should get back to his best friend. Aware that if Neal had just lost a ten-year relationship the last thing he needed to be right now was alone. Aware that this woman, whoever she might be, was not nearly as important as Neal right now. “Eight years I’ve known him and he’s never once mentioned it.”

“Of course not - Tamara liked him boring and so he stayed boring for her. But he wasn’t always that way. He was actually kind of fun when he was a teenager,” she said with a shrug, her grin sharpening as she leaned in. “He talks about you a lot, you know? He thinks the world of you. And you’re not boring, now are you, Killian?”

Killian swallowed hard, the scent of her perfume wrapping it’s fingers around his throat and holding him in place when every instinct he had said to run. He wasn’t in control here. He shouldn’t be here, in the stairwell, with this incredibly perplexing stranger, on Valentines Day, while his friend was hurting upstairs. 

“Who are you?” he whispered, answered only by a small chuckle. “I mean I’ve met his step-half-whatever siblings. Two of them. Are you another? Regina’s sister or something?”

“You think I’m Neal’s step-sister?” she laughed, now her actual fingers tracing his shoulder as the ones created by her perfume began suffocating him in the scent of surrender. “You flatter me.”

“No? Friend from school? Oh, shit… he said his dad’s new wife was young… you’re his stepmother, aren’t you?”

She laughed again, this time biting her lip to hide a delicious grin as she realized he wasn’t teasing. Was genuinely confused.

“No dear, believe it or not, I’m Neal’s mother. The real one. Mr. Gold’s seldom-mentioned first wife. Milah Cassidy, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said with a grin, holding out her delicate hand, dripping with expensive rings and ending in well-manicured fingernails. “And yes, I do expect you to kiss it.”

Killian obliged, raising her fingertips to his lips. Maybe tonight hadn’t been completely ruined after all. 

*

Just great.

Just what Neal had wanted.

As if walking in on his girlfriend of almost a decade trying to rush another man out of her apartment before dinner hadn’t been sweet enough, being left alone with Killian’s date, watching him try desperately to pretend he hadn’t just been crying to his mother, was really just the icing on top of the cake. 

She shifted awkwardly from side to his, blonde curls swaying around her shoulders. She looked exactly like one of the girls Killian always brought home - tight red dress, a little too much makeup, legs for days that were only accentuated by her heels in much the same way her push-up bra was drawing his attention to another lovely feature. No, time to switch metaphors, she wasn’t the icing on his cake - she was the salt in his wound.

“So…” she said with a small shrug, puckering her mouth to the side in a grimace that might have been a bit adorable if he wasn't so annoyed right now. “Bad night?”

“You could say that,” he grumbled.

She paused, chewing her lip for a moment as if trying to decide the best course of action. Clearly she should run for the door - get the hell out of here and count her losses. Maybe call Killian back for another date tomorrow, but definitely not risk having to put up with the crying man sitting on the couch.

She didn’t come to that conclusion though.

Instead, he watched her struggle out of her heels - not bothering to undo the straps as she sort of tripped forward out of them and tossed them onto the shoe rack by the front door. 

“Sorry, those were just starting to hurt,” she laughed uncomfortably. “Hey - you know what I do when I have a shitty Valentine's Day?”

“Look at you!” Neal spit out before he could stop himself. “You’ve never had a shitty Valentine's Day in your life, looking like that!”

She grinned, but she didn’t deny it. She knew she looked good - no reason to blush and fumble the compliment. Instead she sauntered over to the little bar off the kitchen, picking up a bottle of Jim Beam and inspecting it. 

“Do you want to know or not?” she finally asked.

And okay, yeah, he wanted to know. He said as much.

She laughed, a light, airy chuckle that lifted his spirits like a breeze carrying flower petals in the spring. 

“I pour myself a strong glass of whisky, put on the loudest, angriest music I can think of, and scream the lyrics while killing a couple hundred generic bad guys in Call of Duty.”

“No way!” He half-laughed, half-shouted, digging under the couch and pulling out the two controllers he and Killian left tucked out of sight. Killian’s a solid black - Neal’s the Skyrim special edition that his little brother had covered in stickers during his last visit. “You’re lying!”

“I’m not. So here’s the question, you want it on the rocks or neat?”

“I’m never neat,” Neal shot back - his standard joke - before he could catch himself. “Seriously, you don’t need to cheer me up though… I’m sure Killian will be back soon.”

She didn’t even flinch at the mention of her date. Instead she turned around, digging through the freezer to scoop a couple ice cubes into a pair of glasses and pour more than a couple fingers over them - cracking and popping as they settled into the cups.

“What kind of person would I be if I just left you on Valentine's Day?”

“The kind of person my girlfriend was, apparently,” he mumbled bitterly as he took the glass from her, sipping at it gently at first and then taking a longer pull from the cup. 

This is what he wanted. This is what he needed. Why hadn’t his mother suggested getting completely wasted as a possible solution to the Tamara Problem, it seemed like such an obvious one. 

Emma didn’t even acknowledge the comment, instead pulling the sticker-covered controller out of his hand and fumbling to turn the TV on with the remote on the table in front of them. Completely at home in his apartment. 

“Modern Warfare or Black Ops?” she asked as the PlayStation chirped to life, not waiting for an answer before selecting Black Ops.

“I’m Neal, by the way,” Neal said, turning to face her in awe as she became completely absorbed in the game.

“And I’m the girl who is about to kick your ass at this, so pick up your controller... Neal.”

He caught a slight grin out of the corner of her red-painted lips, smiling himself as he turned back to the TV.

Maybe tonight hadn’t been completely ruined after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

What the fuck had he done last night?

Sunlight poured through the slats of Neal’s blinds, like nails being pounded into his skull - painful and unwelcome. But at least the pain, and the fuzzy remnants of a bottle of whiskey, slowed down his thought process, dulled the memories, stopped him from reaching the inevitable conclusions quite so quickly.

Right. 

He and Tamara had broken up. Or fought. That was a mess, and he should probably spend some time sorting that out today. What were the odds they could pretend it never happened, decide to fill the cracks in their decade-long relationship with complacency and resentment and not have to go through the struggle of rebuilding something completely new with someone else? It wasn’t ideal, but ten years was a lot to throw away over something he might be able to pretend was a misunderstanding.

The next memory that settled in his mind firmly was one of complete embarrassment. He’d called his mother. Cried. Begged her to come over. Surprisingly she had even complied. That was… unfortunate. He probably needed to call her today too and apologize for the mess, assure her he was fine. That relationship was a little easier to deal with - always a little estranged, it would be simple enough to settle into her absence once he convinced her that her furthered support would not be necessary. 

He reached for his nightstand, grabbing for a bottle of aspirin and almost fumbling his glass of water as he managed to hoist himself into a seated position. His life was a mess, but if those were his only two problems then it was nothing a slice of pizza and a chat with Killian couldn’t fix. 

Killian… why did he suddenly feel guilty thinking about Killian?

‘Oh, nonononononono,’ Neal thought to himself, turning painfully slow and realizing with slowly mounting horror that he was not alone in his bed. 

Emma Swan lay sprawled next to him, her hair obscuring most of her face, one arm thrown haphazardly off the edge of the bed as the rest of her long limbs tangled in his comforter.

He was suddenly conflicted - fighting warring instincts to be extremely overjoyed at this turn of events and exceptionally horrified at the implications underneath it.

Deep breaths. Take stock.

They were both dressed - Neal in his own comfortable pajamas, he must have changed at some point in the night, Emma still in the bright red dress from the evening before. That was a good sign. Kinda… he was still a little bit confused as to what outcome he was hoping for.

She was kind of cute in the obstructed morning light, eye makeup smeared like a raccoon and mouth hanging half open in a soft snore. The tattoo at her wrist faced the ceiling - obviously a stick-and-poke in this light, both feet curled up under his crumpled blankets for warmth. He should have offered her something more warm to sleep in…

No.

He should have sent her home.

Right.

His gaze scanned the room for any other signs as to what might have transpired between them last night. He didn’t have a lot of experience in this - wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for. The box of condoms he had just bought for Valentine’s Day with Tamara - because life is nothing if not ironic - was still in the plastic bag on his nightstand. Which was either a huge comfort… or a major problem… But even with enough alcohol to tranquilize a gorilla, Neal was still pretty sure nothing had happened… pretty sure… not positive… What he needed was some sort of clue that would let him know if something definitely did… or didn’t... happen. What kind of details would Killian have left behind, every time he had one of his overnight guests?

Killian. Fuck.

It didn’t matter what had happened, getting her out of here before Killian noticed had just skyrocketed to the top of his problem list. He could sort the mess out with Tamara later. Settle things back into their place with his mother, too. But getting Emma gone before his roommate had a chance to notice that Neal had stolen his date was the top of his priorities. 

Because if Killian found out…

Well that just made Neal kind of a shitty friend, didn’t it?

He ran through a list of things to say in his head, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. More than anything, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He was an idiot. His best friend was interested in her. She would understand why this had to stay between them.

_ Listen, I’m just getting out of a really long relationship and _ \- was he? Getting out of it, that is? He had left things kind of in the air when he’d stormed out of Tamara’s place last night and maybe that was a question that needed to be settled before he addressed this issue with Emma.

Okay. Take Two.  _ Emma, Killian is my best friend, though I know it might not seem like it right now, but he is really fond of you and  _ \- was he? Was Killian fond of her? Honestly, he’d be an even worse person if he led her to believe that Killian was interested when he wasn’t. That one was out.

Try again. _ I’m so sorry, this really isn’t me. I don’t do this kind of thing. You’re lovely, but it’s probably best if we not see each other again. I’ve got a lot of stuff to sort out right now, I’m sure you do too. This was a great evening, what I remember of it, really just the best, but you should probably go now. _

It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

But before he could get the words out, her phone chirped, the little screen lighting up the room from somewhere under the pillows.

“Shit!” she shouted, sitting up straight and looking around, her eyes completely overlooking him in her search for the phone - panic and that early morning lack of clarity contorting her features into an expression he really didn’t want to be on the wrong end of. “Shit. What time is it?”

“I think… like seven?” Neal took a guess, finding the ringing phone and handing it over.

The call screen said  _ Mary Margaret _ , a picture of a cherub-faced woman smiling happily out at Neal’s little bedroom. Emma sent it to voicemail immediately.

“I’m sorry Neal, I hate to do this to you after the night you had… but… I really have to go. Like right now!”

Well, that was easy.

He barely had time to nod in agreement before she was stumbling back into her heels and picking up her pocketbook from the coffee table, hurrying out the front door without a second thought about his feelings.

And it was probably best that way - because Neal wasn’t any good at saying goodbye. 

He would have offered her breakfast, a change of clothes, a hot shower. He wouldn’t have been able to kick her out before noon if he was being honest and he really did have other problems to solve today.

So it was really better this way.

Now Killian never had to know.

Still, he wished she had left her number.

*

What the fuck had he done last night?

Killian’s eyes lingered on the purple bruises dotting his neck, the little rings of teeth marks across his shoulders, all the damning evidence his morning shower hadn’t been able to erase.

He was a moron. Just a complete dick. Neal was going to kill him.

Neal could never find out.

With a slight wince - he hadn’t been this sore in ages and the thought made him a little uncomfortable - he reached for the bottle of concealer he kept tucked in the top of his dresser next to the silver polish, aftershave, and his eyeliner - rubbing some of it across his throat and hoping to God it would be enough to cover up what he had done. His fingers massaging the soft mistakes as if they might sink into his skin and fade from his memory the longer he rubbed at them. The concealer covered them from now - but he was going to have to think of a great story to explain the marks away because Neal would see them eventually. And then he would know what Killian had done.

With his best friend's mother.

In the stairwell of their apartment building.

When he had returned last night Neal had already gone to bed. And good friend that he was, he must have put aside his own pain to do Killian a favor and get rid of his unwanted date, because Emma had been gone too. It made Killian feel even more guilty. He owed Neal big time.

It would never happen again.

Never.

He looked down at the number she had scrawled on the back of a receipt dug out of her purse, the cursive slant of her letters reminding him of sonnets and sultry sighs. He had programmed it into his phone immediately last night. 

But he wasn’t going to text it.

No, what he was going to do was head to work. Get through a day of acting normal, because outside of this apartment things would be normal, and then worry about the rest tonight.

He would delete Milah - Ms. Cassidy’s - number from his phone, pick up Neal’s favorite pizza from the shop, and talk through his friend’s beak-up with him like a decent fucking human being. Because Killian was capable of being a decent human being. He thought… he hoped… he wanted to be.

By the time he made it out to the living room, Neal had already headed off to work. Which made breakfast easier, and by the time Killian made it to the bus stop he was already smiling again, ready to forget about last night. He wasn’t even really sure it had happened. Because that would have been crazy.

No, it had to be imagined. A bad dream brought on by a bad date. 

He wasn’t a bad friend.

That’s what he told himself.

He just wished she hadn’t left him her number.

*

“I brought pizza!” Killian announced as he shouldered open the door of their apartment, balancing the greasy cardboard with his good hand, keys dangling limply from the prosthetic he wore at work - the metal hook he much preferred for it’s dexterity being seen as a tad unsophisticated by the clientele of the yacht rental he worked at. “Pepperoni, your favorite!”

“You didn’t have to,” Neal mumbled from the kitchen, the smell of boiling noodles and something salty wafting over to the doorway. “I’m making mac and cheese.”

“Carbs? Things must really be over with Tamara then,” Killian did his best to joke as he set the pizza box on the counter and headed over to his room for a change of clothes. 

“We… aren’t sure,” Neal mumbled, spooning a helping of pasta into two bowls, still avoiding eye contact with his best friend. 

“We?” Killian called from his room, shrugging out of his leather coat and checking to make sure his bruises were still covered before heading back into the living room and accepting his roommate’s generous dinner offer. “You aren’t sure? Or she isn’t sure? Or…?”

“I actually didn’t talk to her today,” Neal admitted, finally meeting Killian’s gaze and holding it for just a little too long. Both looked away again uncomfortably. “I called my mom and we went for lunch. She thinks I should wait for Tamara to reach out to me. You also left quite the impression on her, she went on and on about how you lived up to your reputation… Listen, we need to talk about last night…”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Killian offered as both settled onto opposite ends of the couch, digging into their dinner with all the enthusiasm their conversation lacked. “I’m really sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Neal said, looking up quickly. “I… Listen… I’m just gonna say it okay…”

Killian braced himself for the worst.

“I was in a really self-absorbed place and Emma was really nice, but-”

“Oh, God, I thought you meant… No, no hard feelings. Thank you for getting rid of her, the date went terrible. You did me a favor, mate. I don’t know what I’d do without you always having my back. Remember that guy I lived with in college - always hooking up with the girls I brought home. Can you imagine if I lived with him now? No, you did the right thing, sending her home.”

“Right…” Neal trailed off. 

Both looked at each other, appraising. Thoughts flying a mile a minute.

“So, your mom - I mean I didn’t even know she lived in the city-”

“Yeah,” Neal grumbled. “We don’t talk much. She keeps herself pretty busy. Listen - I normally warn people before I bring her around, but she’s kind of bad news. I love her and all, because I have to, but she’s a bit of a… Well, you know how Pops can be a little… irresponsible when it comes to love? Well, Ma makes him look like a true romantic. Seriously, I’m glad she left when she did, otherwise she probably would have hit on you or something.”

Neal burst into laughter at the thought. Killian did his best to chuckle nervously along. 

“Looks like I dodged a bullet then,” he mumbled dryly as Neal flipped on the TV.

Neither one could focus on the sitcom playing out in front of them though, both too caught up in the sitcom they felt trapped in. Had it been TV, there would have been a laugh track. A silly soundtrack that made all their mistakes seem so harmless. Seamless scene changes that eased the transition of sorting out their unsortable problems. 

But it wasn’t… there wasn’t… and oh, what the fuck had they done last night?


	3. Chapter 3

The bar where Neal worked was dark, and he liked it that way. It was underground, eliminating the possibility of windows, lit instead by small wall sconces that flickered - probably due to an electrical issue - but gave it the feel of torches in a medieval tavern. Dark polished woods and stone walls only added to the out-of-time feel, casting harsh shadows across the green felt of the pool tables and obscuring the view in the mirrors that hung behind the bar. 

A long time ago someone had gone as far as to hang red twinkle lights in the back space - but they did nothing but add an eerie, somewhat horroresque dimness that pervaded even at two o’clock in the afternoon.

Killian hated The Rabbit Hole - loathed days where he had to come bring Neal something he had forgotten in the apartment. Neal’s parents both refused to visit when they were in town - They would always pick somewhere nicer, more upscale, ‘my treat of course,’ they would say through matching wolfish smiles as they tried to pretend that either one really approved of his life choices. And Tamara had been the worst of all. She loudly complained about the blue lighting in the bathroom, the sticky spots on the carpet, the clientele that Neal knew on a first name basis. She liked having a bartender for a boyfriend - but did it have to be this bar?

Yes. Yes it did. 

It was comfortable and cozy to Neal, like a hobbit-hole. He liked how it wasn’t filled with the bright lights and polished modern furniture of his mother’s place. None of the baroque elegance of his first stepmother, the dainty antiques of the second. It was his kind of place - because it was nothing like the places he had been forced to live in as a child. 

And if it had the added benefit of keeping away the people he often needed a break from, well then that was good, too.

“Neal, someone here to see you,” Nick - the other daytime bartender - called from the front while Neal finished his tally of the kegs and marked down next week’s order on the clipboard. “She says it’s important!”

He sighed. He had been dreading this. It had been a week since Valentine’s Day and he had been dodging Tamara’s calls like bullets and court subpoenas. He knew once they spoke it would be over - had to be over - but that didn’t really make him any more eager to face it. 

But it must have been important if she’d forced herself to come here. 

“Tell her I’ll be out in a minute,” he shouted back, taking a deep breath and trying to mentally prepare. He had to leave her - at the very least, for his dignity - but he was really hoping that she would just take the hint and go away without talking about it. Fuck his things that were still at her place - he could buy new things. 

Now or never, he ducked out of the back room, letting his eyes scan the mostly-empty bar in front of him.

“Hi Neal,” she waved from her seat front and center, twirling a red plastic straw inside what looked like an Old-Fashioned. The top of the plastic was already chewed, and it took him a moment to recognize her without all that make up.

“Emma,” he whispered, his fear disappearing as he made his way over and leaned his forearms against the bar. She shifted to match his posture immediately, still grinning happily as she twirled her straw.

“Expecting someone else?”

“No - well, yeah… I mean… I wasn’t expecting you. How’d you find me?”

“Oh please,” she laughed with a toss of her curls - the only part of her that hadn’t disappeared at the stroke of midnight apparently were those unmanageable blonde curls. “It’s not like you’re hard to find. I felt bad for running out on you - thought I might owe you an apology. You should appreciate it, I don’t hand those out often.”

He laughed, “Noted. But you don’t owe me an apology - if you hadn’t left I was about to kick you out.”

She grinned and he had to admit, he liked the shape of her smile. There was nothing restrained about it like his step-sister, nothing delicate like his current step mother, nothing predatory like his father’s first two wives. It was just good natured, pushed her cheeks up so they rounded out her eyes. She was pretty - he had to hand her that. 

“Can I get you another drink?”

She shook her head no as she swallowed the last of what was in her cup, sliding it back across the bar. “I’ve got work in a few. Just wanted to stop in and ask you out. A real date this time - not Call of Duty on your couch.”

He paused.

“You’re asking me out?”

“Yeah - got a problem with it?”

No - but it was different. He’d spent the last ten years pursuing Tamara, it hadn’t occurred to him someone could pursue him. Putting aside the fact that his normal response to this kind of attention was to smile politely and inform them of his commitment to his girlfriend, it felt a little strange to be… wanted. To be worth tracking down at work in the middle of the day just to ask for a moment of his time. It was… nice.

“Like dinner and a movie?”

“Oh, Neal,” she sighed. “That’s boring. I know you can do better than that. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night - let’s say eight?”

And then she was gone before he could point out all the problems in that plan.

Before he could mention that he still didn’t want Killian thinking he had stolen anything - even something unwanted - from him.

That he technically still hadn’t broken things off with his girlfriend and so had no business dating anyone else.

That dinner and a movie really was the best he could do - Tamara would have balked at any other date idea.

That he had a shift tomorrow at eight and wouldn’t even be able to make it.

Oh, well. Guess she was just going to have to be disappointed.

“Hey, Nick?” He called into the back room. “I’m going to need you to cover my shift tomorrow! I’ve got plans!”

*

Killian liked his job cleaning up, renting out, and occasionally captaining the expensive yachts down at the club in Tribeca. It was sunny, and bright, and mostly outdoors. After his brother’s death a few years back he hated the idea of being trapped anywhere - got panic attacks he stifled with sedatives in the little apartment he shared with Neal - and knew he was never going to be able to hold a traditional job again.

So the yacht club had been a blessing - the rental office had two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water, gauzy white curtains fluttering in the breeze - or the pumped in AC when the weather wasn’t as obliging. Most days he didn’t even need to be in the office - he was out inspecting the boats, checking fuel, cleaning up the phallic-shaped remnants of bachelorette parties, and taking the occasional cat nap in a bright beam of sunlight. 

There wasn’t a thing at his job, from the temperature to the schedule, that he couldn’t control, and he rather liked it that way. 

And the clients… Oh, the clients were the best part!

All the ritzy, spoiled heiresses looking to rent a boat on daddy’s credit card for the weekend, out-of-town bridal showers where all the bridesmaids were looking for their Prince Charming and willing to settle for the next best thing with a pulse, models in bikinis getting ready for photo shoots and a drink with the captain after. 

Killian’s job couldn’t have been more perfect. 

Except for he had to keep his phone on him - normally not a problem with how much he enjoyed his Instagram and Twitter accounts - but this past week it had been a bit of a problem.

Milah - er… Ms. Cassidy - was rather persistent with her attentions and deleting her texts was often about as difficult as an addict turning down a score. At first he had tried just ignoring it - then he’d started leaving the phone in his bag on the dock while he was out cleaning the boats - finally, he had resorted to leaving it with a young intern inside the office and asking them to only run it out to him when it was a client calling.

So on days like today, with the sun shining overhead even in such drearily cold weather, mopping up the lower deck on a recently returned rental, there wasn’t much about this job that could stress Killian out.

“You’re not returning my calls, pet - keep it up much longer and it might hurt my feelings.”

Killian turned, knowing the voice long before he saw the face to match. She didn’t dress at all like a mother, skinny jeans in those damned tall boots again, a simple - but too-tight - sweater obscured by a patterned scarf that tangled with her copious curls. Those curls that kind of reminded him of her son, and boy, was that a thought he didn’t like. 

“I’ve been busy,” he mumbled through gritted teeth, leaning heavily against the mop on his good side, tucking the prosthetic behind his back to hide it from her view. He hadn’t been wearing it that night, and for some reason he felt much more ashamed of it than the metal hook he preferred. It looked better, but it felt much more useless to him, and Killian never liked being in a situation where he felt useless.

“Don’t lie to me,” she purred, stepping forward - careful not to set foot on the boat, but close enough to block his exit. “My first husband used to lie a lot. If he hadn’t left me, I probably would have killed him for it.”

“I’m not lying,” Killian persisted. He had been busy. Busy ignoring her calls. Busy pretending like nothing had happened in front of Neal - who was also weirdly jumpy this week. Busy fielding Tamara’s visits since she stopped by constantly and Neal never wanted to see her. He had been busy... in a way.

“So when are you free?”

“Ms. Cassidy-”

“Milah, love.”

“Milah - I just…” he trailed off, letting his gaze linger over her. Really linger. She was everything he usually turned away from in a woman - tall and athletically built. She was tan with dark hair and intelligent eyes, her clothes understated, but expensive and respectable. Twice his age, though she didn't look it by half, she didn’t need him. He didn’t understand it - didn’t even want to try. It was a nonstarter.

But he could still smell her perfume from that night, hadn’t stopped thinking about her soft moans into the shell of his ear, the comfortable weight of her pressed against the wall of the stairwell while her heels dug into the back of his thighs.

He didn’t want to.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

“I’m working a lot. I don’t have time to see anyone outside of work.”

She nodded sagely, inspecting the boat he was standing on as if ready to give up. To walk away. “I understand.”

Killian nodded a goodbye, turning back to the mop and resuming his work. Swallowing hard to suppress the temptation just seeing her had brought out in him.

“How much to charter a boat, then? To request a specific captain?”

He turned back slowly, letting the mop clatter to the floor as he watched her wave a fan of crisp hundreds at him, licking her lips as she grinned. She knew she had won.


	4. Chapter 4

“You look good, where are you off to, mate?” Killian asked from his spot on the couch, plucking Doritos out of the bag with his hook - feet still propped on the coffee table while Shark Week played on the little TV in the background. 

Neal jumped, clearly not expecting him there. He’d been really jumpy since he left Tamara, and though Killian would never truly vocalize it - not in so many words at least - he was a little worried about his friend. Not worried enough to cancel his plans tonight - but worried enough to keep a close eye on him.

“Work,” Neal said, reaching for one of the Doritos and popping it in his mouth, licking his fingers afterward instead of just wiping them on his pants. Now that was weird… “You know, get better tips when you look nice.”

“At normal bars, sure,” Killian grinned, trying to pin down exactly what Neal wasn’t saying. “But The Rabbit Hole? You could walk into that place in your step-sister’s knickers and no one would look twice. You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, you?”

Killian paused. Why would Neal ask about him? Did he know? 

“Yeah, mate? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re still in your work clothes,” Neal pointed out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You normally ditch the preppy boat stuff as soon as you walk in.”

The two squinted at each other, Neal reaching for another chip and munching it casually. Neither one brave enough to ask the question that really mattered.

_ ‘Dude, just tell me the truth, what is going on with you?’ _

“I’m working tonight - late night cruise. Just like you.”

But the words were thick with suspicion and Neal caught that.

Caught it, and held onto it tightly because he knew he was in the wrong here. Knew that Killian wouldn’t do the same thing to him. Of course, Neal didn’t have anyone in his life comparable to Emma - didn’t go on enough causal dates to fully understand - the closest he got was Tamara and the thought of his best friend and his ex… well, it hurt just a little. A lot, actually. It wasn’t the same, and that’s what he kept telling himself, but he still felt guilty. Still felt like a bit of a jerk, if not just for the fact that he was lying to his best friend. They never lied to each other - never needed to - and now Neal was breaking that sacred bond of brotherhood, for what?

A hot blonde who made him feel alive for the first time in a decade and swept away all his problems with a smile - holding them at bay with her presence like a cross to a vampire. She was worth the lies, even if it hurt.

And… he amended quickly, he would eventually tell Killian. If things got serious. If Emma stuck around a little longer. If… he paused. It was the first time he had thought of a future without Tamara and it had just happened so casually. As if he obviously wouldn’t have a future with her, as if leaving her was not just inevitable… but… freeing?

“Well, have fun, I’ve got to go,” Neal mumbled, checking his watch - the dials said 7:45 and even though it was only a ten minute walk to The Rabbit Hole, he didn’t want to push his luck. Tamara didn’t wait for him when he was late - he assumed Emma probably wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, you too,” Killin mumbled, turning back to the TV - worried. Something was definitely wrong with Neal.

*

As it stood, being left behind was clearly not something Neal had to worry about. Emma was twenty minutes late, and part of him worried she had forgotten. 

Or changed her mind.

Thought maybe he should just give up and head inside the bar - apologize to Nick for pawning his shift off on a pipe dream and have a few drinks to work up the nerve to call Tamara and finally talk things through. And it was on that thought… pulling out his phone and dialing the number that had left him countless pleading voicemails that the yellow VW Bug pulled up.

“Oh, Neal, thank God,” he heard Tamara’s voice moan into the other end of the line. “Listen… baby, let me explain. Greg is not what you think, he’s a client, that’s-”

But Emma was smiling and waving, and Neal still didn’t have anything to say. Still felt torn between accepting those stupid, sugar-coated lies or growing a backbone and telling her it didn’t matter.

Because it didn’t matter. And that thought hurt a little. He had been looking for a way out for ages, he realized, why was it so hard to take it now that he had it?

“Neal, baby, just say something,” Tamara begged into the phone.

“Neal, are you coming?” Emma called, leaning across her car to poke her head out the passenger side window and beckon him over. 

He shut the phone without so much as a word, he’d deal with that later, he decided, the weight of his decision settling into his bones as good and true and right. He’d tell her it was over later, because tonight it WAS over and he wanted nothing more than to spend time with Emma.

She grinned as he approached, leaning back to unlock the door and then let out a low, appreciative whistle as he chuckled, trying not to blush at the attention.

“You clean up good, Neal,” she laughed, unashamedly drinking him in. He decided he liked that about her - how she didn’t seem to worry about manners or decorum or any of those other things Tamara had been so obsessed with. Emma said what she was thinking, and it made him smile. A lot, actually. It was honesty, in its purest form, and it made him want to be honest too.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he shot back, turning around to hunt for his seat belt, his eyes catching the messy backseat. And for the first time he thought he saw her blush - maybe at his comment, maybe at the shame of just how messy her car was - but it brought a nice color to her cheeks, just kind of felt natural there.

The back of the car was littered with take out containers from the diner where she worked, as well as crumpled fast-food bags, empty soda cans and coffee cups, receipts lay crumpled across the floorboards like snowballs in the winter, and peeking out from all the mess were little insights into her personality. A half-empty tube of lip gloss, a couple worn and dog-eared crime novels, one of those battery operated toy lightsabers (green - like Luke’s of course), and a couple crumpled Spiderman comics with fingerprints around the edges of the pages. 

“Don’t look back there,” she said quickly, sweeping her arm into the back seat and knocking a bunch of the junk onto the floor. “Really, I didn’t have time to clean it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed. “I was just thinking… Call of Duty… Spiderman… Star Wars… you might just be my dream girl!”

Her face broke into a grin at that one, a little more restrained than it had been in their previous encounters, but still genuine and soft.

And Neal felt a little guilty because in ten years he had never once described Tamara as his dream girl… and this was only his third time meeting Emma (fourth if you counted the lunch he and Killian had shared ages ago at the diner when he’d first noticed her tattoo) and yet he meant every word. She was everything he needed right now.

“So, where are we headed tonight?” she asked, drawing his attention back to the front of the car by turning the keys in the ignition and bringing the engine back to life. 

“Well, you said no dinner and movies… I thought maybe coffee and a walk in the park?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes a little impatiently. “Boring.”

“Okay… Do you like dancing?” he asked, thinking of the clubs Killian occasionally dragged him to. Not his idea of a great first date, but certainly less boring.

“Please, Neal, you’re killing me,” she moaned, her voice laced with a love of the overdramatic. “I don’t get a lot of nights out, you’re going to have to dig a little deeper than that to make it worth my while.”

“There isn’t much deeper,” he mumbled, wishing he had spent more time listening to Killian’s crazy adventures. That was a first, wishing he was more like Killian…

“Please, I know about your criminal record. Like I said, you weren’t hard to find… because I know how to look. I used to be a bail bonds woman. So I know you’ve got a wild streak buried somewhere deep in there.”

“First,” he said raising a finger in her direction, his voice full of mock indignation, “Those records are supposed to be sealed… and second…”

He trailed off, thinking back to those days over a decade ago. Before Tamara and diets and taxes. Thinking way back to when fun was his deity and he worshiped any way that he pleased. Thinking back to daddy’s lawyers and a pack of wild childhood friends that had called themselves The Lost Boys and had made his unbearably miserable childhood just a little bit better.

Neal had an idea.

“And Second, do you mind if I drive?”

“Can you drive stick?” she grinned with a raised eyebrow, excited at the prospect of adventure.

“Can I drive stick?” he laughed, remembering joyrides in stolen antiques. “Just move over.”

*

The boat rocked gently in the water, the wind outside pushing it ever so slightly from side to side like a calming lullaby as Killian fought his hardest to stay awake. He didn’t sleep around women, it was one of his rules, and furthermore his boss would murder him if something happened to this boat, even though he’d done everything by the books. 

He’d had Milah fill out the paperwork, the same way any other customer would have. He’d booked the cruise, official and clear as day on the schedule, if not for the odd hour it wouldn’t have stuck out at all. He’d been careful with the boat, and he’d been careful with her… and that had gotten them about as far as the Lower Bay before she’d managed to… distract him.

Now, he admired her long legs, bare and peaking out from the hem of his borrowed shirt in the moonlight of the boat’s tiny cabin as she sauntered over to the mini-fridge and began rummaging around with her ass in the air. It was all he could do not to drool.

She had been… unexpected. Something he normally hated. But she was adventurous, dominante, and wasted no time with false niceties. And he was surprised to find he liked that about her. 

More importantly, to literally only Killian, she seemed at home in any space she occupied - including the boat. Most women he brought out here had a hard time - seasickness and unsteady sea legs causing them to wobble like freshly-birthed deer. Doe-eyed little Bambis losing their guts over the side of the boat and completely ruining the mood.

But not Milah - she had not only seemed comfortable, but like she knew what she was doing. She watched him drive the boat with keen eyes, and he knew she was learning as they went. That it wasn’t a show - she wasn’t feigning interest in him and his hobbies to get any interest back - she was the kind of woman who couldn’t stand not knowing something and so she drank in everything… until they had left all the other boats in the bay behind and then her impatient hands hadn’t given him much time to think through their consequences.

“You really shouldn’t be in there,” he warned as she dug through the fridge, producing a bottle of champagne and waving it seductively in the direction of the bed he was still lounging in, sheets pooling at his waist, the darkness enough to make him - and his scars - feel less exposed. “They charge an arm and a leg for that stuff if it goes missing. How do you think I lost my hand?”

She laughed, something deep and powerful, a rumble from somewhere below her breast as she collapsed back onto the bed, pulling at the cork with red-tipped fingers sharpened like claws. “Then I’ll pay for it, love. Really - don’t be so stingy, we’re having a good time.”

“Is that your answer to everything?” he asked, taking the bottle from her hands - worried she might break a nail- and popping the cork with his good hand - it had been a difficult skill to learn, but with practice Killian had gotten quite good at it. Milah laughed, rolling onto her back and into his lap as the champagne fizzed and sprayed across them both, before reaching up and pulling the bottle away from him. Oh well, he was going to have to wash these sheets again tomorrow anyway - why not soak them in expensive wine first?

“You’ll find, when you have it, money is often the answer to most things, yes,” she drawled, putting the bottle to her lips and taking a heavy swig, laughing as it fizzed and spilled down her chin. He couldn’t help but smile at such a girlish gesture, not at all what he was expecting for someone as put-together as her. 

They drank in silence for a moment, her hands tracing the edge of his thighs as she stared up at the ceiling - lost looking grey-green eyes contemplating something serious as Killian drank in every detail of her. Every laugh line and happy wrinkle. The two indents between her eyes that Neal also had when he was frustrated - a sign she probably spent a good deal of her youth arguing. Every curl that fell delicately around porcelain shoulders, tangling with the collar of his shirt that she had stolen, a jawline that felt set before she even started speaking. Her face told a story, one written in a language Killian didn’t quite understand - but he was desperate to read it.

“How did you get so much money?” he asked, aware of the rudeness of his question. 

“How did you really lose your hand?” she shot back.

“You first,” He deflected quickly. “Neal says you made your living on alimony - but I can’t imagine that leaves you with ‘buy your boyfriends’ type of money.”

She scoffed. “Yes, my son isn’t very fond of my… lifestyle. But he wouldn’t know much about my finances, seeing as he refuses to take any of it. No, alimony is for amateurs, pet - settlements are where the good money is at. Promise me, Killian the first time you marry, do it for money: love is a waste of time.”

He laughed at that, pushing curls away from her face as he lowered his lips to her forehead. “Is that a proposal?”

Smiling, she turned over onto her stomach, fingers trailing over his chest, ignoring the scars he tried his best to keep hidden, as she climbed back up to eye level with him, settling into his lap and bringing him to attention with only the slightest of friction. 

“You’re a lot of fun, you know that?” she said, kissing the tip of his nose lightly, eliciting a moan he hadn’t been prepared for from his own throat. “But you’ve nothing to offer me besides a good time. So we’ll ride this out, quite literally, and then go our separate ways when the fun is done - no one ever the wiser, you understand? Don’t get attached, Killian - it’s never good when two people get attached.”

And that, well, at least that was something they could agree on.

*

“You know, when I said I wanted an exciting date, getting arrested wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind,” Emma said, holding the flashlight of her phone over the padlock he was playing with.

“Well then you shouldn’t have asked me to ‘dig deep’,” Neal chuckled as the tumblers clicked and the top of the lock popped open. “This is the kind of delinquency you’ll find when you go digging deep inside the soul of Baelfire Neal Gold.”

“Baelfire?” she chuckled, a little surprised as she followed him through the gates, looking around at the empty carnival he had taken her to on the outskirts of the city. It wouldn’t be opening again for another week, but Neal knew - because he had dated the lawyer that handled all of their injury settlements - that it was probably a lot safer like this. Impressive for Emma, but not too dangerous for him. 

“Yeah,” he said, taken aback by how nice the old name sounded on unfamiliar lips. “My parents call me Bae. Didn’t find that when you were searching my juvie records?”

“Must have overlooked it… Bae,” she whispered, turning in awe as he led her through the booths of games where in a week carnies would begin swindling people for their hard-earned cash in exchange for stuffed toys. “So, are we going on the rides?”

“Do you want to?” he asked, praying she’d say no. Technically he did know how to turn them on - had already played with the fuse box enough to turn on the lights, but he didn’t trust himself to safely operate any of these death traps. Not that he’d ever admit it to her. She made him want to… show off. It was a new feeling and he liked it much better than the decade long impulse to behave that he’d previously struggled with. “I thought we’d just play a few of the games - maybe I’d turn on a deep fryer and make some funnel cake. But if you’re feeling roller coasters, the sky’s the limit, baby!”

“Games sound good,” she laughed as he followed her through all the booths, running through the isles as if someone were rewinding time - taking him back from the boring almost thirty to the wild-eyed teen who hadn’t known just how heartbreaking being happy could be. There was a pure sort of joy to having never been in love, and tonight both of them laughed and hollered and outright ran around the carnival like two children encased in such joy. 

They learned that Emma was much better at darts than he was; that Neal had a gift for the ring toss. Both of them were awful at whack-a-mole. But along with the stuffed toys they probably shouldn’t have been taking from each booth to load back into her car at the end of the night, the real prize was the enjoyable intimacy of fun. Of letting go of pretense and just enjoying the moment.

At the end of the night Neal did turn on one of the food stalls, but the only thing they could find in the kitchen a week before opening was an old box of ice cream cones and a bag of soft serve mix that was either too full of preservatives or too expired to be healthy. They made it anyway, taking their cones to the roof of the ticket booths that overlooked the empty parking lot - save for one little yellow Bug - and watched the lights of the city twinkle in the distance. 

“So,” Neal asked cautiously, turning to look at the woman beside him with ice cream on her nose and a smile on her lips. “How’d I do? Second-date worthy?”

“I give it a B plus,” she said with a shrug and a joking smile. “We’ll see if you can do better next time.”

He nodded, trying to suppress the smile that was starting to make his cheeks ache.

“So, what’s your story, Emma? You already seem to know mine - tell me, what’s your deal? How did you get so good at Call of Duty?”

“Well, I was actually born a princess in a far away kingdom. There was a terrible curse on our land, and so to save me, my parents put me in a wardrobe that brought me here to this world. One day I’ll go back and save them all,” she whispered, turning to face him, grinning at the enraptured look on his face and then bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Really?” he asked.

“No!” She roared with laughter. “But wouldn’t it be so much cooler if that were true? No, I never knew my parents. I grew up in foster care - it was rough but I made it through. I have some scars from it, sure, but got some good things out of it, too. Life is what you make it, you know?”

He nodded.

“And you used to be a bail bonds woman?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Why’d you stop? No offense, diner waitress seems like a step down.”

“Full offense taken,” she chuckled, punching him in the shoulder. “But - if you must know - waitressing is a lot safer. And I’ve got things I’ve got to be safe for these days. Good enough answer for you?”

He nodded again, settling back into silence for a moment.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he mumbled, taking the last lick of his ice cream as the stars twinkled overhead. She raised an eyebrow in concern. “How did you get so good at Call of Duty?”

“Oh, that,” she chuckled, turning away from him and looking at the parking lot. “Same as you, I guess. Practice. You ready to go home?”

“I feel like I already am,” he mumbled, half to himself and half as a proclamation to the universe that things were finally right in the world. 

“That’s nice,” she chuckled again, “But I actually have to be at my real home by midnight, so I think we need to get going.”

*

Killian watched Milah sleep, utterly enraptured by the rise and fall of her bare chest, half concealed under the silk sheets of the rented boat, her fingers digging into his ribs even in slumber. He didn’t feel the familiar itch to leave, to make excuses, to get back to his own comfortable bed with plenty of space. Of course, he didn’t trust her with his nightmares, wasn’t so completely lost that he could drift off around her and not be prepared to handle the consequences, but he watched her sleep and realized with a slight amount of discomfort that he could probably do this all night.

It wasn’t a lovely feeling, like Neal had described that first time he’d slept at Tamara’s place - not one of softness and a need to protect. Nor was it obsessive and all-consuming, possessive. He was just… sort of… perplexed.

Milah was like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve and it irked him a little because Killian wasn’t a fan of puzzles. Hadn’t he rejected Emma for those very same reasons a week ago? And he had rejected Emma, leaving her to be cleared out by his roommate after he’d disappeared for an unexplainably long period of time. But Emma was younger, and prettier, and on some level easier to control. If he was going to solve a puzzle, by all means, why shouldn’t it have been that one?

“I lost my hand to a crocodile,” he mumbled into the darkness, knowing she wasn’t awake to hear the huskiness in his voice. It was a story he had shared a thousand times, dressed it up like a joke and showed it off to impress. But here, in the empty darkness of open water he felt like laying it bare - none of the usual frills and fancies. “I was little - my brother and I had just gone into foster care in Miami. I won’t tell you how we got there from Ireland cause that’s not a pretty story either, love, but we were there and together and canoeing. Liam always loved the water.”

He turns slightly, checking to make sure she is still asleep, snoring lightly before he continues.

“We were taking a weekend trip to Biscayne, camping and the like, when it happened. I won’t describe it and ruin your dreams, but it was a bloody awful ordeal and if Liam hadn’t saved me…” he trails off, choking up at the thought of his brother, fearless and brave and covered in Killian’s blood. “When a crocodile bites you, lass, they don’t just take your hand. Me hand was just the only thing they couldn’t save.”

And if he’s not mistaken, he thinks he feels her fingers twitch lightly over the scars that mar the ruined right side of his body.

Gently he begins to stroke her shoulder, hearing her coo softly in her sleep and wonders why he is even here, spilling his secrets into the dark. He needs to get home to check on Neal. To get away from the woman with deep pockets and dark secrets of her own - that he has somehow managed to divorce from the role of Neal’s mother momentarily in his mind - and not let anything happen to those carefully built emotional walls of his. 

Because when she had warned him not to get attached, he had agreed wholeheartedly. Killian didn’t do attachments, not since his brother Liam had died. He didn’t make friends, form relationships, hell he even kept his coworkers at a safe distance. 

Attachments just meant you had someone you could lose. And Killian had almost lost himself when he’d lost his brother. 

He had Neal - but Neal had been around before Liam had passed. Neal was his only real friend, the only person he really trusted, respected, and relied on. Neal who was acting weird and Killian was worried it was because he was planning on taking Tamara back. Planning on discarding his dignity and grovel to be forgiven for Tamara’s mistakes. That all his jumpiness was because he was sneaking around, knowing Killian wouldn't approve of that decision to settle for second-best. 

And Killian couldn’t let that happen to his only friend. Needed to be there to convince Neal that he was worth something, something more than Tamara had ever valued him at.

Because Neal was worth a whole hell of a lot to Killian.

And wasn’t this just the biggest betrayal of Neal’s trust? No longer a quick fling in a dark stairwell - but something so much more. The two of them had always made jokes, as anyone does, about each other's moms. Jokes. Because to actually fuck your friend’s mother was unthinkable. Worse than stealing a girlfriend or breaking a treasured possession.

Killian had one friend in this world, and he was betraying him every second he stayed here.

He needed to get home.

He needed to come clean.

He needed to forget this had ever happened and beg for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

Instead, he settled in against the back wall, gathering a slumbering Milah into his lap, and continued to watch her sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

He was going to tell Neal - he had to tell Neal. It was eating him up inside. He’d seen Milah three more times - all on a rented boat from his work - since their first night out on the water and what he had started off thinking of as a brief affair was showing no signs of ending. So he had to tell Neal - beg forgiveness and permission at the same time. Neal was a reasonable person, an incredibly laid-back friend, he would understand. 

At least Killian hoped he would.

Still, he would prefer to have this conversation more than a little drunk, so he’d picked up two six-packs and a pizza on his way home and had them spread out on the table like an offering to an angry god, pacing back and forth while he waited for his friend to get off work.

In his nervous sweep of the apartment he had tidied up a bit, and though he had tried to sit down and watch TV to distract himself, he found that his attention kept wandering to the clock and then the door. Neal’s shifts at the bar normally ended around ten, but ten passed, and then the minutes began to tick by, achingly slow.

When Neal finally did arrive it was almost midnight and he stumbled in, kicking off his boots and running fingers through his hair as his eyes took in the apartment.

“Did you clean?”

“Yeah,” Killian admitted, quickly. “I didn’t know you’d be working so late - I got a pizza too!”

“Well,” Neal mumbled, a little distracted, “That’s… unexpected. You feeling alright?”

“Yes, I mean… kind of… want some pizza?” Killian asked, already in the process of throwing a slice in the microwave as Neal settled in, picking up one of the PlayStation controllers and turning it on remotely, heading into the kitchen to grab one of the lukewarm beers Killian had forgotten to put in the fridge. 

“Is this the mail?” he asked, setting the beer and controller down on the counter, riffling through the pile of papers Killian had dug out of the mailbox that morning. 

“Yeah, you got something from your stepmom, other than that it’s just junk,” Killian answered, watching the numbers on the microwave tick down like a timer. When it went off, he would hand Neal the pizza and then tell him. Like a band-aid, he’d just rip it right off.

“Neal, there’s something-” he began, cut off by a frustrated groan from his friend who had dropped the pile of mail back on the counter and was now staring aggressively at the frilly little cardstock addressed from his stepmother.

“A vow renewal? A fucking vow renewal!? Really!?”

“Huh?” Killian asked, carrying the warm slice of pizza to Neal and looking over his friend’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was the smell of reheated pepperoni or the lilac colored cardstock, but something was making his stomach churn.

“Pops and Belle are renewing their vows this summer on their eight-year anniversary. They want me to come,” Neal growled, throwing the card back onto the counter and snatching the pizza out of Killian’s hand to take an angry bite and continue talking through a mouthful of aggressive chewing. “I didn’t even want to go to the first fucking wedding, and now this?”

“I thought you liked Belle,” Killian mumbled, watching dismayed as Neal stalked across the apartment, throwing himself down on the couch. 

“I did. I do. It’s just…” Neal sighed in frustration, completely missing the nervous look on his approaching roommate’s face. “She was nineteen when he married her. In my graduating class. We were friends all through school. I even had a crush on her when we were in third grade together. You know how embarrassing that is? I mean… my mom’s got a lot of parenting problems, but at least she’s never fucked one of my friends.”

“Riiiiiight,” Killian mumbled, lowering himself next to Neal on the couch and picking up the other PlayStation controller. Watching as Neal lined up his sight and took aim on the TV - pixelated enemies exploding into a cloud of gore. It was hard not to imagine his own head on the screen, Killian thought, as he tried his best to hold on to his last ounce of courage.

“But she makes your dad happy? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Neal hit pause, turning to look at his friend - his eyes squinted in focus, and probably a little anger as well. 

“I mean…” Killian continued, “I guess what I’m trying to say is… What I wanted to say was… isn’t it better that it’s someone you like? Someone you were close with? You hated your first stepmom, remember? Regina’s mom? Isn’t it better that you get along with your dad’s girlfriend-”

“Wife,” Neal corrected quickly, the confused look deepening across his brow. 

“Right. I guess I just think you should go, is all,” Killian mumbled, chickening out as his last ounce of dignity slipped away. “I just think you’d feel awful if you skipped it.”

Neal seemed to relax at that, turning back to the TV and flipping the game back on, taking aim again as Killian’s player joined, splitting the screen in half. 

“Tamara’s gonna be there,” he admitted with a shrug. “She was friends with Belle, too.”

“Oh,” Killian mumbled, caught a little off guard. He had been so sure that Neal and Tamara had patched things up. She had stopped calling and Neal had been gone a lot lately. He had thought for sure that meant Neal was just hiding the relationship until Killian was ready to forgive her for what she’d done to his friend. “And you two have finally settled it?”

“Not really,” Neal admitted, pressing the buttons on his controller a little harder than was necessary. “We still haven’t really spoken since she told me I couldn’t come get my stuff until I was willing to hear her out, but I figure I’ll just buy new stuff. Anyway, I think she’s got the hint and stopped calling.”

Here Neal paused for a moment. 

“Actually, I’ve been kind of seeing someone else.”

“Really?” Killian asked, grateful for the change of topic as he leaned back on the couch. “So that’s why you’ve been so busy. Well, tell me about her! I want to hear all the gorey, lewd details, mate.”

“You first,” Neal laughed, leaning forward to get a better view of the TV. “Oh, come on, don’t act like I haven’t seen the hickeys all over your neck! You think that makeup shit you use works, but it doesn’t.”

“They’re not that bad, are they?” Killian asked, raising his hand to lightly touch his throat, the blood in his veins going a little cold. What was he supposed to say now? After all Neal had just unloaded, how was he supposed to admit where they had really come from?

“No,” Neal laughed, killing another enemy, still having not noticed that Killian’s character was frozen, his friend’s fingers barely even touching the controller in his lap. “Not at all, though might I suggest, now might be a great time to start getting into scarves…”

Killian tried his best to chuckle, couldn’t force the sound out through his constricting throat. He was caught. Found out. Neal had pieced it together and Killian hadn’t even had a chance to own up to it. What a shithead. Whatever murder Neal would inevitably enact, Killian was now sure he deserved it.

“Seriously though,” Neal laughed, pausing the game to turn and look at his friend. “Tell me about her. I haven’t seen you with anyone since Valentine’s Day.”

And there it was. The obvious answer. His way out.

“Same girl, actually. Yeah, I called her back, figured I should give her a second chance and all. I was completely wrong about her.”

“Emma?” Neal asked, his brow furrowing. Killian now had his full attention.

“Yeah. She’s great.”

“Yeeeeah,” Neal mumbled, nodding along with Killian’s frantic attempt to act normal. “She seemed great… You sure you’re alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because for the first time ever, Killian had just told Neal a lie. An obvious one at that, though he had no way of knowing just how blatantly so. 

“No reason, just… you look a little pale. You sleepin’?”

Killian sighed, the concern from his friend a normal, comforting topic - Killian’s sleep habits leaving a lot to be desired. Ever since Liam’s death, Killian didn’t sleep well at all, sometimes pushing himself to stay awake for days until Neal found him passed out on the couch - or worse, got calls from his boss that he’d fallen asleep at work again and couldn't be woken. It had been Neal who had suggested the pills, and Neal who had regretted it when Killian had started to take them a little too liberally. Things had been fine for a while now, but it was just like Neal to start worrying again.

“As good as possible, mate,” Killian said through a forced grin, turning back to the TV and unpausing their game. 

The truth was, his refusal to sleep in front of Milah had started seriously cutting into his sleep schedule.

*

“I tried to tell Neal today. About us,” Killian mumbled, pouring another glass of wine for himself as he watched Milah swirl hers around the glass, eyeing the spiraling crimson liquid as if the secrets to the universe had been written in it’s pattern. She had brought the bottle herself, announcing it was older than Killian, and made him drink his first glass painfully slow - pointing out flavors and aromas he would have never noticed before. Then she had proceeded to do other things painfully slow to him as well.

“How did that go?” she chuckled, the trace of a joke on her voice.

“Not… not well… he brought up Belle.”

Milah laughed, that deep chuckle the Killian felt in his chest more than actually heard, the sent shivers done his spine - equal parts fear and attraction.

“Ah yes, Belle. My ex husband’s current attempt at proving that he is redeemable. Neal sure did get upset about that one. If I recall, he ranted and raved for weeks. Said he would never forgive his father… that he would never speak to Belle again. It was a rather tedious couple of months in my life - having to listen to all that.”

She laughed again, setting down her wine and inspecting her nails - painted now an amber gold with little flecks of glitter underneath the glossy polish. They were mesmerizing to look at, and hurt like beautiful bloody hell raked down his back. 

“You seem awfully calm,” Killian mumbled a little bitterly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed and sipping sulkily at his wine. Damn, it was good wine - rich and dark and complex. Like the woman he was sharing his bed with. A luxury, like her time, that he still wasn't sure how he had lucked into. “Did it ever occur to you that he’s going to be mad at you, too?”

“I’m not worried,” she purred, sliding across the silk sheets to nibble at his ear, tracing those long nails over his jaw when he pulled away from her.

“Oh really?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Two reasons, dear,” she laughed, collapsing back into the sheets with a girlish giggle. “First - a boy always forgives his mother. He forgave Rumple eventually, and he’d forgive me ten times faster. I’m untouchable, darling. And, second, but most importantly - this is all a moot point because you’ll never have the balls to tell my son anything.”

*

“Hey, babe,” Emma smiled as Neal climbed into the passenger seat of her car, fastening his seatbelt before turning to accept her welcoming kiss.

They’d been on several other dates since the first, all as weird as that night at the carnival - always on short notice or at odd hours, and though it was completely out of Neal’s comfort zone he felt alive when he was with her, like a coma patient waking up from a decade-long dream of complacency. This would be their fifth date - two past what Killian considered the ‘home run date’ and Neal had still not been invited back to her apartment - which was, he was loath to admit, a bit of a sore spot.

Not that he would know what to do if he ever did make it back to her apartment - he had no clue what she was expecting in that regard considering how adventurous she liked her dates and how little… experience he had in being adventurous. But it would have been nice to be asked.

Would have been nice to be allowed into that intimate inner sanctum, even just the living room or the kitchen. Just to see how she lived. See what books she kept on her shelves, what art she hung on her walls, inspect the photos of her friends she undoubtedly had tacked to her fridge. Emma was still a mystery and a few more clues would have been nice.

She was oddly an open book in so many regards, she had told him all about being bounced from foster home to foster home - how she had never finished high school and had been dreaming of going back for her GED some time in the near future. She never stopped with stories about her favorite books and movies, he knew her best friends - Mary Margaret and Lily - by name and had already heard the story about how she got the tattoo on her wrist three times (probably because he loved it so much, traced the ink with his fingers when they were holding hands, pressed it gently to his lips before kissing her good night) and each time she embellished it with a few more details. 

But ask her about certain little holes in her personal story and she shut down. Never had an answer. When exactly did you stop being a bail bonds woman? What was your dating life like before me? You and Lily met in high school, but how did you and Mary Margaret meet again?

Her silence on these topics was worse than vague answers, even lies. A lie Neal could believe - was sure Tamara had told him plenty. A little vagueness sated his curiosity without inviting more questions. But complete darkness, a total change of subject, that just let him know there was something there. A backstory he hadn’t yet unlocked. A puzzle he hadn’t earned all the pieces for. 

“You alright, you look upset?” Emma asked as she settled back into the driver’s seat, affectionately ruffling his hair as she pulled away. “You mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad,” Neal mumbled. But after Tamara… well, he had to be sure. “Hey, so I know we haven’t really had the whole ‘exclusive talk’” - here she laughed, but dropped the mirth quickly enough when she realized he was serious - “But I just got out of a ten-year relationship where I was cheated on - so I’ve got to ask. Forgive me if I'm a little jumpy about these kinds of things, but are you still seeing Killian?”

She paused, trying her hardest to bite back laughter, almost positive this was some sort of joke, one she didn’t get the punchline to.

“No?”

“It’s okay if you are-”

“Neal, I haven’t seen Killian since Valentine’s Day, and I don’t plan to. I know you love the guy, but we weren’t a great match - honestly we probably would have killed each other by date three. And as far as the ‘exclusive talk’ goes, we aren’t in high school so I didn’t think we needed to have that. Are you asking me to ‘go steady’?”

And yes, she was making fun of him, but she was laughing, and so he couldn’t help but chuckle back. Couldn’t help but believe her. There was a good chance she was selling him the same lie Tamara had tried to sell him, but with Tamara he hadn’t wanted to buy it.

With Emma he did.

“Yeah, I guess I am asking if you want to wear my letterman jacket?”

Her laugh was so beautiful, and plentiful, and it just lifted his spirits like windchimes and Christmas bells. “Only if you’ll go to prom with me. Is this the part where you take me out to split a milkshake and play our song on the jukebox, or should we skip straight to making out in an empty parking lot?”

“I mean,” he began, casting a salacious look into the now-spotless backseat of her car. “I know which one sounds better to me… hey, hey, don’t hit me, I’m kidding! Though I could go for a milkshake…”

“One milkshake coming up,” she grinned, pulling the car out of park and onto the busy New York City streets, Neal’s mood lifted immensely by the cheerful aura that just seemed to flutter around her.

But he also knew it was only temporary, because he had an even greater mystery to solve than Emma Swan.

Killian had lied to him.

Killian never lied to him, even when Neal wished he would.

Something was very, very wrong.


End file.
